Dream Lover
by i'mnotcrazy82
Summary: PWP.  It's late, and Lisa Cuddy is tired.  Is what happens a dream, or is it real?   HUDDY!  Rated M ;   AU to the show - No established relationship.  Now continued...for the time being...
1. Chapter 1

_**Dream Lover**_

_Every time I try and dream you_  
_I can't beleive how hard it's been to_  
_Conjure up your face and trace your body in the air_  
_All the seconds go on forever_  
_But the thirds and the forth ones are even better_  
_And every time I do it just a little bit longer_  
_Every time I dream, it's just a little bit stronger than_  
_Real life_

_**Meatloaf - Good Girls Go To Heaven (**Bad Girls Go Everywhere**)**  
_

Lisa Cuddy was exhausted, and she thought of nothing more of just slipping between her satin sheets and drifting off to sleep. It hadn't been an unusual day; she had come in around eight o'clock that morning, and she had left the hospital around eight that night. Forty minutes later, she finally made it home, drained and frustrated. She toed off her heels at the door, and she hung her coat in the closet just inside the small foyer. On her way to the kitchen, she put her briefcase down on the coffee table in the living room. In the kitchen, she pulled a small package of food out of the freezer, and she put it in the microwave. She stretched, rising up on her tip-toes, trying to remember the last time she'd had a meal that hadn't come from a restaurant or a freezer. Pouring herself a glass of rich, red wine, she decided she couldn't remember. She took a sip, letting the warm flavors slip over her tongue. Closing her eyes, she decided there were worse ways to live, and while her's might be lonely, it still wasn't that bad. The microwave beeped, and she pulled the cardboard container out, letting it cool a little before she transferred it to a plate.

She took her plate and wine to her dining room table, where she set them down while she went to the living room and retrieved her brief case. Sitting down, she ate the tasteless Szechuan style noodles and vegetables while reading over the quarterly budget reports she had received from accounting that after noon. Once she gave them the once over, she'd turn them into Board at their meeting the next afternoon for final approval.

After dinner, she padded down the hall to her bedroom, and she sat down in front of her vanity, taking off her jewelry. She delicately put them in her jewelry box, tucking them away for another day. She pulled her hair down from her clip, massaging her scalp. She looked at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the crow's feet that seemed to be multiplying at the corners of her eyes. She studied herself; her wide gray-blue eyes rimmed by dark circles. Her skin seemed pale and tight thanks to her long days and short nights. Finally fed up with the signs of aging staring back at her, reminding her that she wasn't as young as she used to be, she stood up, and she began to slowly strip off the days clothes, putting them in her hamper. She thought about taking a long, hot bubble bath in her tub, but one glance at the clock told her that her day was going to start far earlier than she would like it to, and that time would be better spent in bed. So she washed off the days make-up, and she slipped into her satin nightgown, ready to slid between the sheets of her king sized bed, wishing she had someone to share it with her. It was her secret dream to wake up in the warm, strong arms of a lover. Not just a husband, or boyfriend, but a lover and confidant. She pulled the comforter over herself, and she laid back on the pillows, wishing there was another scent than her own absorbed into the silky pillow cases. The smell of cigars and bourbon, smokey and sweet. Of rich, spicy leather and Old Spice aftershave. The smell of antiseptic, that seemed to cling to him thanks to the time spent in the hospital. The smell of one Gregory House.

Her gray eyes flew open. Where had that fatigue muddled thought come from? Gregory House had been a pain in her ass for a decade now, and a shadowy figure on the periphery of her life for another decade before that. She rolled over, thinking about the comments he made to her on a daily basis – earlier that day he pointed out that her ass had its own gravitational pull in front of half her clinic -, and they way he ogled her when he thought she didn't notice. There was a hungry look in his eyes that made her skin tingle and the secret place between her thighs ache. Even now, thinking of that desperate look that promised all sorts of wild and kinky things made her nipples ache and breathing hitch. He was definitely wrong for her, and if she ever indulged him in those unspoken promises, they both would live to regret it. So, instead, she tried to ignore it, and she made an attempt to push those thoughts out of her mind; if she didn't, she'd never get to sleep.

So she buried her face in the pillow, it suddenly felt cool against her warm cheek. She curled up on her side, wrapping her arms around one of the many pillows on her bed, hoping that sleep would take her way, and far from her subconscious desires roused by one blue-eyed rogue.

She didn't know what woke her up, but she knew she had been in a deep and dreamless sleep. She groggily tried to get her bearings, when she thought heard the shuffle-step of a familiar gait coming down her hallway. She blinked, then sat up, wide-eyed as a hand pushed open the door to her room. Her breath hitching, she clenched the comforter close to her chest, pushing herself up against the headboard. The figure stepped in the room, his bright blue eyes glittering with lust and desire. "Sorry if I woke you," he apologized, not meaning any of it. "But I've been thinking," he trailed off.

She found her voice. "You sneak into my home in the middle of the night to tell me that you've been thinking," not even bothering to keep the anger out her voice. "House, get the hell out."

"I tried calling, but you didn't pick up your phone," he said, as if that explained everything.

"That doesn't make me feel better," she commented, dryly. "And I didn't pick up because normal people like me sleep this time of night," she glanced at the clock grimacing at the bright red numbers, "or morning."

"You are far from normal," he teased, the mischievousness glinting in his eyes. "Like me. And, like me, you're frustrated and lonely."

"You got the frustrated part right," she shot back, glaring at him from over the edge of her comforter, which was still pulled tight against her. "And on the verge of homicide."

He grinned, looming close to her. His scent flooded her sinuses, and she felt her womb clench tightly. If the man only knew the affect he had on her, and, unfortunately, she suspected that he did. Know that he affected her... She cursed herself silently; the man caused her to not even form a coherent thought with herself without quantifying it. "You want me." Yup, he knew, and he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He traced the whorl of her ear with his finger before tracing her jawline. He put enough pressure on her chin to cause her face to turn towards him, and she could see the hungry desire in his eyes. "I want you, too."

I know! she silently screamed, her throat and mouth suddenly growing dry. She felt the bed depress as he sat next to her, his mouth inches from hers. "We're two lonely, frustrated people, and we're not getting any younger," there was a sadness to his low voice that she hadn't heard before. "We should just allow ourselves a little happiness in the world before the ride's over."

She blinked. House...talking about...happiness? It didn't make sense coming from him. She bit her lip, thinking about his words. Giving in to her own desires in the past had reaped even more loneliness and pain, and giving in to her desires with House could be even more disastrous, but...

House sensed her hesitation, and he took that to make his move. His fingers still putting slight pressure on her jaw, he lowered his own mouth to hers, brushing his lips lightly against hers, sending shocks arousal to the tips of her nipples and between her legs. His stubble abraded her cheek and mouth gently, the coarseness brushing against her smooth skin. The fingers of his free hand tangled in her hair, holding her tightly to him. He overwhelmed her, scent and feel. She let loose the blanket, and she gripped his biceps tightly, slightly surprised at how defined the muscles felt through his shirt. He wasn't a body-builder by any stretch of the imagination, but, from the feel of him through his clothes, he was in good shape.

Feeling the change in her posture, he began his assault on her mouth in earnest, teasing and nibbling her lips until she opened for him. She allowed her hands to trail up to his head, snagging her fingernails in the short, loose curls. She felt him trace her lips with his tongue, and her breathing hitched as she craned her neck up to him, pressing his head close to hers. The hand he had tangled in her hair tightened its grip, and he shifted himself against her, moaning softly into her mouth. The sound did something to her, turning the low simmer she had been on into a full blown roiling boil. The rational part of her brain screamed for her to stop, that this was a bad idea. She wanted to listen to that part, until his tongue invaded her mouth, teasing her own into a dangerous dance for dominance. Her brain seemed to shut off, and lust took over.

She clawed at his buttoned down shirt, suddenly feeling the need to feel his naked chest against her. Their kisses grew heavier, as did their panting as they blindly tried to shed his shirt. One of his arms broke free of the sleeve, and he used it to slide under her gown to caress her breast. She moaned loud enough to be embarrassed at the sound. She felt him smile as he broke off the kiss, tearing off his shirt and tossing on the floor by the bed. His free hand pulled up on the hem of her nightgown, and she hesitated for a moment, her heart hammering wildly. This was the point of no return, and she knew he realized that, too. His lips froze a hairsbreadth from hers, and she could feel the hot hair escape his mouth in short pants. Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips, then she sat up, pulling the satin garment over her head, revealing her completely naked form.

His blue eyes turned several shades darker with arousal as his pupils dilated. He once again pressed his mouth to hers, his kisses becoming deeper and wetter. He shifted his lower body so his hips were cradled within her thighs. His hands danced along her rib cage, stroking her abdomen, allowing him to tease her naked breasts with the soft hair on his broad chest, stoking the fire within her. She curled one of her legs over his jean clad butt, using it to press him closer against her. His belt buckle dug into belly, and she reached between them, blindly trying to remove the offending piece of metal and leather.

He groaned, but he didn't help her. Instead, his hands found her breasts, and he gently kneaded and worked the mounds, his thumbs tracing a spiral that swirled around the sensitive tissue, brushing her nipples as they reached the center. Arousal began to burn hotter within her, and she feel a hot wetness began to pool between her legs. Still fumbling with his belt, she tried to curse, but it came out as a strangled moan into his mouth. Grinning, he broke the kiss to nibble a trail down her neck to her collarbone, taking the belt out of her reach. He buried himself in the valley between her breasts, kissing both mounds happily as his hands stroked her hips. He licked up one of her breasts, tracing the nipple with his tongue while one of his hands cupped her mound with his hand. He dipped a finger into the wet cleft, stroking her softly. "Come for me, Lisa," he whispered against her breast as he gently rubbed the button hidden in her lower lips. He flicked it with his thumb, and she felt herself grow tense from the sensation. "Come for me," he panted. "Please?" He flickered his thumb rapidly, stimulating her further. She felt the familiar heat pool and spiral, centered at the tiny bud between her legs and aided by the suckling of her nipple. She began to keen, her fingers digging into the muscle of her back, her hips bucking aganst his hand. She wanted to, so desperately wanted to...

Her mind grew blank as her body convulsed, her moans incoherent cries of pleasure. She felt her womb pulse, a release of liquid heat escaping from between her thighs. Still panting, she dropped to the bed, feeling as though all the energy had escaped her body. Her sex still tingled from the stimulation, but she was vaguely aware that he had shifted off her body. The cool, night air brushed her chest and abdomen, causing goosebumps to rise up on her skin.

She opened up her heavy eyelids. She swore she had heard him whisper "thank you, but she couldn't be sure. Her room felt cold and empty, but her fingers felt warm and wet with fluid. A soft glow from the streetlight outside her window broke through the curtains, and she realized that no one was in the room with her. Her nightgown had been pushed up, exposing her breasts to the night air, and her right hand was between her legs, the tiny bud under her fingers still twitching with aftershocks from her orgasm. The fingers of her left hand still lightly pinched her nipple. Realization took a hold of her, and, tears in her eyes, she reluctantly threw off the blanket, making her way to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror. Not that she was ashamed of the act of masturbation; she had learned how to take care of her needs like that in high school, possibly Jr. High.

No, it was the dream that left her rattled. It was so real; she touched her face, half expecting to find whisker burn and swollen lips. She could fell him pressing against her body, his breath hot against her mouth...

She shivered at the potency of her dream. She splashed water on her face, hoping that it would wash away the last remaining effects, but it just seemed to enhance how vivid, how _real_ it was. Still shaking, she made her way back to bed, and she slipped underneath the covers, afraid of going back to sleep, knowing that if she dreamed like that again, she'd never want to wake up...

Across town, Dr. Gregory House woke up, a painfully hard erection straining against the front of his pajama bottoms. He stared at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest. The dream seemed so _real_, the feel of her soft skin under his fingers, the minty taste of her mouthwash still in his mouth from their kisses. He could still feel the sticky heat of her orgasm on his fingers, and he brought those fingers to his nose, half expecting to smell the essence of _her _on them.

Part of him wanted to go back to bed, to escape back to that dream world to see how it ended. "Thank-you," he had whispered to her right before he had woke up, after she had convulsed around his hand, riding it for all that it was worth. The thought of her doing that around his dick, bathing it in her fluid, caused his testicles to tighten. He glanced down at the tent produced by his hard-on poking up his pajamas, and he knew he wasn't going back to bed until he took care of that first. Cursing to himself, he tossed back his heavy covers, and he limped to his bathroom. He kept a small container of lotion in the cabinet above his toilet, and squirted a small amount of it in his palm. Taking a hold of himself in his hand, he began to stroke, closing his eyes to allow the images of his most recent vivid dream to drive his desire. A few strokes later, he came with a strangled cry, his free hand pressing against the cold, tile wall, holding himself upright. As soon as he felt steady enough to take a few steps, he flushed the toilet, and he looked in the mirror. Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow he was going to tell her to get the hell out his dreams and into his bed.

[End]


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N -_**

**_I wasn't going to add to this, but my muse bit me in the ass last night. So, here's another chapter. Again, I'm not sure if I'm going to add more or not, but I might. It was one of those weird spontaneous things that just kind of came together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_**

**_As always, I don't own House, DS does, the dirty bastard. Since he broke House 'n' Cuddy up, I'm doing my best to repair the damage in my own delusional little world...  
_**

Gregory House scowled at the poker game he was playing on his computer. He had been hiding in his office all day, his minions working in the clinic since they didn't have a case. He himself had been avoiding clinic all day, and he was hiding in the last place she would find him; his own office. She'd haunted his dreams for the past few weeks, and as much he desired her, he just couldn't bring himself to tell her. So he tried to keep himself hidden, and his mind distracted from thinking about his dreams. So he drew the blinds around his inner sanctum closed, and he sat there, in the quiet, with just the sunlight from the windows behind him streaming into the office.

He lost his next hand, and he closed his browser, glaring at the computer screen. He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly bored. He turned around in his desk chair a few times, staring at the ceiling. He scratched idly at the stubble on his face; it was thicker than he usual grew it. Finally sighing, he reached for a file on his desk opening it up.

The door to his office opened, and the person he'd been avoiding all day strode in, an odd look on her handsome features. He watched her as she walked to to the corner, twisting the cord that closed the vertical blinds that provided his glass walled office any type of privacy tight, ensuring that prying eyes couldn't see in. He watched her closely as she walked back to the door leading to the hallway, pulling a key ring from her blazer's pocket, securely locking the door. He felt himself beginning to stiffen, and his lips and mouth suddenly went dry. She walked across the room, twisting the cord for the blinds that shielded his office from his minions' conference room, before locking that door.

He studied her as she moved around his office, her skirt tight and clinging to her toned thighs. He watched as her hips rolled with every step, enticing him. Her dark hair cascaded down her past her thin shoulders, hanging in loose curls down her back. The soft gray blazer and the matching skirt she wore brought out her smokey, storm-gray eyes, while fitting well against her lithe body well, calling attention to her figure. The red blouse was low cut, drawing his eyes to the soft curves of her breasts, the exposed skin milk pale.

His jeans had become increasingly uncomfortable, and his breathing quickened, his heart beating a little harder in his chest. She turned her gaze on him, sauntering towards him, her hips rolling in a primitive, come-hither motion. She walked behind his desk, and he turned to her motion, the manicured tip her long, outstretched finger lightly resting lightly on his shoulder, so feather light, but with enough pressure to send shocks of heat and electricity through his entire body. His breathing hitched, and his mouth opened slightly, his erect cock straining against the front of his jeans. Her gray eyes met his, deep and unfathomable. The pupils were round and dilated, and her pale skin took on a rosy glow. She lowered her head to his, the lids half closing. He felt her breath hot on his lips, then the pressure of her lips on his, featherlight and teasing. She pulled back, enough to make him open his eyes in surprise. He watched her as she stepped in between his thighs, then she began to kneel down, the finger on his shoulder lightly traveling down his body, trailing a thin line of fire in its wake.

She knelt down on the floor between his spread thighs, gazing up at him with those haunting gray eyes, full of his desire. Keeping her eyes on his, her deft and nimble fingers unfastened the button of his fly. She slowly tugged the zipper of his jeans down, then reached in, pulling his straining dick free from the confines of his soft, cotton boxers. She lightly cupped his balls in one hand, fondling them gently, then she broke off their gaze, planting a soft kiss on the tip of his dick.

He shifted in his chair, drawing in a sharp breath as she took him in her warm, wet mouth. Her deft tongue trailed up and down the underside of his penis, swirling around the head. He watched as her dark curls bobbed up and down with the motion, her hand massaging his balls with the same rhythm. He felt his breathing grow heavier as his testicles tightened. She took more and more of him into her mouth, until he felt the head of his cock brushing the back of her throat. He made a deep gurgling sound in the back of his own throat, and his hips began to rock against her. His hands flexed, his fingernails digging into the leather arms of his desk chair. He started to pant as she bobbed up and down faster, making a soft humming sound.

His hips bucked; he couldn't stop it, and the inevitable was rapidly approaching. He threw his head back, the veins on his neck sticking out stark against his skin from the strain of holding back. His fingernails scored deep into the chairs arms as he felt himself release deep into her mouth, his hips bucking with ever pulse of his penis. Spent, he slumped back, his heart hammering and his throat tight and dry from the strain of not screaming. He panted heavily, opening his eyes, hoping to still see her knelt between his legs. Instead, he was alone in his dark office, the blinds drawn from earlier, when he didn't want to be found, and his head had been resting on his desk. The sudden jerk of his waking caused him to knock the red coffee mug off the table. His heart was still hammering, and he looked around widely. It took him a moment to realize what had happened had only a dream, yet again.

He glanced down at his crotch, cursing, annoyed when he spotted the growing damp spot along his fly. _Dammit_, he snorted; he was a fucking fifty year old man, not a thirteen year old boy. He was way too fucking old to be having wet dreams. Disgusted with himself, he stood up, looking for the duffel bag he kept in his office, preparing to search for a new pair of pants.

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy awoke with a start, her cheeks warm from arousal. She looked around her office, trying to remember when she had dozed off. Not that she had a lot of time during the day to do that. She glanced at her clock, and the still untouched lunch on her desk, realizing that she had slept her lunch away.

She wanted to rub her eyes, but she feared smearing her mascara. Instead, she stood up on unsteady legs, feeling the arousal between her legs. Her nipples were erect and tight, and she hoped they weren't visible through the thin fabric of her blouse. If they were, she would just wear her heavier tweed blazer for the rest of the day. On legs that still felt like jello, she made her her way to the small, private bathroom that was part of her office; one of the perks of being Dean of Medicine.

She opened the door, then flipped on the light. She stared into the mirror, her face flushed with arousal. She could still feel him filling her mouth, arrogant and thick. Her knees still felt warm from where her dream-self had been kneeling between his legs. She could still smell his musk; feel the softness of the cotton boxers that had held him in. She splashed water on her face, running her tongue along her teeth, still tasting the salty sweetness of his seed as he pulsed his release. She patted her face dry, then look up at the mirror, her eyes wide and puzzled; these dreams were starting to crawl under her skin, disconcerting her even more with each one.

She threw herself into her work for the rest of the afternoon, trying to put the vivid dream behind her, but every time she stopped, or let her concentration slip, the images filled her mind, distracting her. She found herself glancing at the clock, something she never did, wanting to escape from the hospital, and the eyes that she felt were on her, as if they knew her thoughts. She just wanted relax with a glass of wine, or better yet, a glass of good single malt highland scotch, rich and smokey and and spicy on her tongue. Anything to wash the imagined dream taste of Greg House's semen out of her mouth, as the Trident spearmint gum she had been chewing all afternoon hadn't seemed to be able to do the job.

The clock ticked down, and she had managed to avoid House all day. She escaped the building, not wanting to see him, not wanting him to sense the tale-tell signs of her arousal that she knew he would be able to sense, because, she knew, he would know, and he would mock her for it. She felt as jittery as a high school girl around her first love, the teasing and the temptation. The longing and the anticipation of the first time...

She blinked her eyes, pausing as she climbed into her car. She wasn't a virgin 16 year old; she had crested the hill reaching forty; too old to be acting like a high school girl around her crush. She glanced at herself in the rear view mirror, her weary and wary gray-blue eyes staring back at her, wide and steady. _Tomorrow _she told herself. Tomorrow she would nip this problem in the bud


End file.
